


demagogue

by aishiteita



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishiteita/pseuds/aishiteita
Summary: A common dream: gold and red and black blinding Wonwoo momentarily before his eyes are permanently shot by acrid smoke. The fire builds around him like a stifling embrace, pudgy fingers trailing up Wonwoo's arms to his shoulders, to his neck before closing in on his thin skin like a vice.(It's so much harder to see through flames.)





	demagogue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herzen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herzen/gifts).



> henlo i got carried away w what was supposed to be a my own private idaho au. it has become This and tbh i love my baby lkdfjlskjflsjf
> 
> TO MY DEAREST MICHELLE. due to admin privileges i knew it was u.  
> i tRIED MY BEST... TO ADHERE TO UR WISHLIST i couldnt think up any vigilante aus but i hope theres enough. Cop Business going on in this fic to keep u satisfied. also copious amounts of samumenco sprinkled here and there for Sentimental Effect. JUST FOR U <33
> 
> sweet michelle if only u KNOW how much i love your writing and u!!!!!!! i miss u a lot and hope things have been well on your end. and i hope!!! this. isnt too long of a fic slkdjflkjfe i hope its to ur taste and that u can enjoy it <3
> 
> and BIG THANKYOU to [salma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/maeumso), my beta reader for this fic!!!! i know im a Big Doof in grmmar and was p difficult to work with THANK U FOR PUTTING UP W ME ;___; this fic is The Way It Is Now bc of u!!!!! <3
> 
> for everyone else, hello welcome to My Hell i hope u enjoy!!!!! <3
> 
> edit: thanjs to CAT imma post a [playlist](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0tDOGlaj45xPaPs_xJequSsVaqZddZDH) too enjoy!!!

Wonwoo has been dreaming in golds and reds for years. When he closes his eyes, it's to the acrid smell of burning grass, soot upon dry soil, hot steel nails glaring in the dark. When he wakes, it's to cold sweat beading across the nape of his neck, the all-consuming guilt that quiets down along with his heart to an old fatigue he's learned to make friends with.

Flames licking a cigarette's end, flames dancing atop pastel candles, flames that go up with a dull _boom_ in blue before turning orange when Seokmin cooks eggs in the morning; Wonwoo unfailingly flinches every time.

 

 

" _Jeon Wonwoo_ , you did _not_ tell me Soonyoung has been texting you?"

The mall closes at nine p.m., which is when Jeonghan would religiously saunter into Wonwoo's shop and park himself behind the counter, eating more or less fifty percent of Wonwoo's cold dinner like he paid for it. There's also his disconcerting habit of going through Wonwoo's phone, which has message previews because Wonwoo is an idiot who forgets to set it otherwise every goddamned time.

"Please put down my phone," Wonwoo requests plainly, wiping down the counter. This soon proves to be futile as Jeonghan monstrously shoves chili fries down his throat. Flip of his hair, cheese on his chin. It is to this ugly sight that Wonwoo unfortunately closes shop to every night.

"Yeah, okay," Jeonghan mumbles past a mouthful of fries. "But Soonyoung has been texting you? He's been looking for you! See, _Wonwoo, stop ignoring me! Wonwoo please reply, Wonwoo Wonwoo Wonwoo—_ " A couple morsels of chewed-up potato happily land themselves on the newly-wiped counter, which Wonwoo dutifully goes over with his rag once more, but not without flipping Jeonghan off.

"Just because he's been texting me doesn't mean I have to respond, do I?"

Jeonghan finally hands Wonwoo his phone back, matted by greasy fingerprints. "You don't have to," he says slowly, baby-talking Wonwoo with heavy emphasis on the syllables. His smirk shines from all the oil. It irks Wonwoo a lot more than it should. "But you _should_."

Wonwoo scowls at the reek of beans and cheese coming from Jeonghan's general direction. "I'll talk to him when I talk to him."

Greasy phone in his pocket, Wonwoo tosses the rag into Jeonghan's fries before chucking the whole tray into the trash. Jeonghan throws his hands up in the air. Wonwoo doesn't wait for him, rolling down the shutters and forcing Jeonghan to almost trip over his feet skidding to the storefront.

"All I'm saying," Jeonghan wheezes, voice cracking slightly, "is that it's also _my_ problem considering I'm friends with both of you."

"And?"

Jeonghan gives Wonwoo his signature look; a withering gaze that's borderline sardonic, motherly in the sense that whatever comes next is non-negotiable, regardless of how stupid it sounds coming out of his mouth. It's condescending most of the time, but it's the only way Jeonghan knows to get through Wonwoo's head. For four years, nothing has worked, nothing but Jeonghan's shit-eating grins and disparaging stares with a clammy hand on Wonwoo's shoulder as if it were some bandaid, _because we're still friends, right?_

It's not cold when Jeonghan speaks. In fact, it's warm, with a sharp exhale that slaps but doesn't cut. "I'm not repeating myself, Wonwoo."

 

 

**misdemeanor**

There are rules to how Wonwoo keeps things, how he owns them. He needs them because moving is inevitable, and the sheer process of packing everything up into smelly grocery store boxes isn't fun. It's like a funeral, with less dirt or fire and more dust maybe, dust that liquefies back into grime from his cold sweat.

So he has rules. Unspoken and unknown, even to himself. Less of rules, he evades. Distaste for the non-perishables, for scented objects, anything geometric or teal. Striking things that won't be leaving his memory anytime soon.

Hence, mornings aren't his favorite. Wonwoo wakes to a ceiling, sits up on his bed sans covers or sheets to an Apink poster Seokmin obnoxiously tacked onto the wall when he first moved in. It's debatable which is more blinding: the smiles of six ethereally beautiful girls that do nothing but make him miss Joohyun and Seulgi, or his curtain-less window that lets the sun burn him in all its glory, unfiltered. The bookshelf turned door-less closet right beside said window reminds him, with its layer of lazy dust that won't even dance anymore in the morning light, that he hasn't picked up a book for at least a year now. _I need to read more_ , Wonwoo has been reminding himself before leaving the room every day. He impresses himself reminiscing how he would go through at least two titles a week, then.

Now, everything haunts him, some oddly persistent need clawing at the back of his mind to do something and do _more_ of that something but he won't let himself. He can't let himself. It's a limbo Wonwoo has been trying to escape but here he is, another morning before the Apink poster, the tingly heat of sunlight, bare legs scratching against the rough stitches of his mattress.

_gmorning wonwoo! now pls reply me!!!_

Except for the past week, he wakes to at least three messages from Soonyoung, and every time he swipes at his phone screen to tap at the _clear notification_ command, the pressure increases. Whatever ailment he has that would scrunch up his diaphragm and press brutally slow against his stomach come nighttime now assaults him in the mornings too. Standing up, Wonwoo doesn't feel rested at all. It was a lot worse the first time he got Soonyoung's message. He's learning to deal with this, on top of everything else. Like Seokmin, for example.

"Toast?" Seokmin offers on Wonwoo's way out. Wonwoo gratefully accepts it _—_ warm, crispy bread with peanut butter oozing between the two slices. If Wonwoo has to pick out one good thing to have happened to him since high school, it would be Seokmin. Sweet Seokmin forever glued to  kitchen appliances and his never-ending supply of breakfast. Beautiful Seokmin who does all the smiling for Wonwoo and makes sure he calls his parents every month. Seokmin with his Adonis of a boyfriend who thinks he's being discreet with his visits, but Wonwoo can hear them most Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Seokmin, who is awfully nice to his roommate and whenever he smiles (which is often), Wonwoo wants to drown himself in 80-proof liquor because then the overwhelming desire to kiss Seokmin becomes less mortifying.

"Do you ever text back?" Jeonghan asks, leaning precariously over the counter, looking like he's going to fall any second, knock the register over, and maybe break one of Wonwoo's wrists. "Wonwoo, don't _lie_ to me."

"No, so shoo."

A customer approaches, teenage and unmistakably loaded from how he loftily hands a _Razer_ headset over to Wonwoo. The smell of clean, crisp cash is something Wonwoo has never liked—too fresh and not money-like at all, like fake monopoly notes. "Shouldn't you get back to your shop?" he snaps.

"Y'know, all that avoiding is gonna bite you in the ass one of these days," Jeonghan warns him, which doesn't sound the slightest bit intimidating when every word is accompanied by the squelching of boba in between his teeth. "Soonyoung's stubborn like that. In fact, he went out of his way to—"

" _Oh! My god!_ Stop ignoring my texts, you absolute _shithead_."

There is a pause, a pause so present, so large as an existence that it devastates Wonwoo from how small he knows he is in comparison. He's half excited to reminisce about this very moment in the far future, maybe years from now, because that's how long it would take to heal from the sheer amount of shock he's receiving right here, right now. This _present moment_ that's terrifying every cell in his body, every bit of his being; physics be fucked, this is time travel. Wonwoo can't grasp the idea of this being real at all.

"Right." Jeonghan's voice becomes five times more nasal as he grossly slurps up the last of his milk tea. "That. He texted me last night and I was so tired of you I told him where you worked." He offers Wonwoo his plastic cup with its leftover ice and slimy boba. "Sorry. But you're welcome."

Wonwoo would spit something back if he weren't so busy relearning the basics of breathing, eyes dry from not blinking as he watches fleshy fingers press against the counter, their red tips turning white. None of this is happening in real-time. This is a haunting.

"Hannie, I can't do this," a disturbingly familiar voice whines, "I can't deal with this, please help me."

"Suck it up, Soonie, you asked for it." Jeonghan smirks, like he always does, and walks away from the counter without his almost-empty boba cup. He waves goodbye when he reaches the storefront. Wonwoo doesn't wave goodbye. Soonyoung does, though.

Soonyoung. _I haven't seen you in nearly four years_ Kwon Soonyoung.

Soonyoung crouches low with his fingers gripping the edge of the counter. Wonwoo can't see his face right now, but he did earlier. Once puffy cheeks sag just a tiny bit now, lines pulling skin down. It's red under Soonyoung's tiny eyes, red across the bridge of his nose, planes of his face, his ears visible from how short he wears his hair now. It used to be long and problematically blonde. Wonwoo can't recall a time when Soonyoung had black hair, and he never wished to. Doesn't wish to. It's what he gets, though.

"Fuck you," are the first two words to dribble out of Wonwoo's mouth in the saddest, most petulant hiss. Soonyoung's fingers twitch at that, sliding further up before they bend sharply, white knuckles stark above pink skin as he pulls himself up. Wonwoo thought he himself was small; so small, shrunken and incredibly minor despite the mess of his height and limbs. Soonyoung is just a tiny inch shy of Wonwoo's whopping six feet, but he's never seen Soonyoung like this. Like he's as small, or even smaller than Wonwoo. Guilt swarms over Wonwoo for cursing at Soonyoung when he looks the way he does now.

"I know." Soonyoung smiles sheepishly. "That's okay." He knows it's the wrong time to pull up the corners of his mouth so sweetly, but it's habitual. Wonwoo is aware of this fact. It used to call trouble to Soonyoung; how the cops would catch them loitering about in the one a.m. dark, and Soonyoung would always get the short end of the stick for smiling so much despite the spittle landing on both their faces. Coffee breath and dumpster stench is heavy in the air despite there being only milk tea on the counter, and Wonwoo is once again convinced that this isn't real. Soonyoung loves to prove him otherwise, pale lips revealing teeth when they part. "I deserve that. But really, you didn't read any of my texts?"

Since the first text alone, Wonwoo was resolved not to read any of them, not even the previews. It's very stupid, because regardless of whether he reads them or not, he'd have to wrestle with the crushing shame of knowing that he's accomplished nothing since high school, that he's not over anything that happened then; the wash of sun-soaked classrooms and chalk dust on their grimy hands coat his throat when he sleeps, only to be spit out the next morning along with toothpaste and bile reminiscent of smoke in his lungs. Wonwoo can't fathom what would happen if he were to read the text and discover that he has nothing to reply Soonyoung with other than, _hi, im in a lot of pain but its been a while_. He can't wrap his head around the idea of reading, formulating a response, and the infinite possibilities of some bizarre reunion with Soonyoung. He wasn't, isn't ready. "I have no reason to."

The corners of Soonyoung's mouth droop, just a tiny bit, bottom lip sucked in slightly. "Well whatever. Where's your manager?"

"I'm the manager."

"Bullshit," Soonyoung retorts. "I need a job. The sign says you're hiring. So let me talk to your manager."

Soonyoung's fingers remain just as forcefully tacked onto the counter, nails and knuckles white. His resilience is not something Wonwoo welcomes, and Soonyoung must look unusually suspicious through the CCTV; Wonwoo can count the seconds before Bora knocks down the staff door to chew his life out. "There's no such sign so if you would kindly leave," he tells Soonyoung, "I can tell you where Jeonghan is."

"You were peeking at the CCTV," Soonyoung remarks, grin manic. "That means your manager is watching you!" The absurd observation is followed with obnoxious waving to the CCTV's general direction, and Wonwoo feels like the camera's red light is the laser point of a gun, like he's pointblank, dead center on the crosshair.

 

 

"You got the job!" Jeonghan returns on cue, just fifteen minutes before the shop closes with yet another cup of boba milk tea. "Sweet," he drawls, muffled by his straw.

"Bora was so nice," Soonyoung muses, sipping from the same cup as Jeonghan, with the innocence of someone unaware that they just wrecked another's life. "She said she needed an employee who can actually walk around the shop and not stay behind the counter like Wonwoo twenty-four seven."

The noisy slurps and repulsive chomps of boba against teeth are twice as loud now. Wonwoo scratches the corner of his counter with a blunt fingernail; whatever churning anxiety he had has been flushed away by anger. Pure, unadulterated frustration as to why Jeonghan would do what he did, would let things fall into place the way they have. The situation is messy, illogical and unreasonable. Thinking of not thinking about it summons Wonwoo's migraine, but his skull is heavy enough as it is, threatening to snap his neck in half from how hard he's trying to figure out Soonyoung. Less about Soonyoung's motives, however, because he's not going to touch that, feeling that it's better to stay within the permissible boundaries of his own head. It's more of Wonwoo still processing Soonyoung's existence before him—how Soonyoung's just the slightest bit surer of his limbs now, why he has lines cutting straight from the inner corners of his eyes down to his cheeks, if he still watches anime and did he manage to buy _Samurai Flamenco_ 's special edition Bluray?

"I'm closing up shop," Wonwoo announces instead. He packs what little belongings he has into a ratty Herschel that he's been using since high school, with its pins and stubborn stains intact. Soonyoung reaches out to one of them, an enamel pin of a cartoon police hat that Wonwoo now distinctly recalls Soonyoung having its counterpart. Soonyoung's lips part slightly, but he's smiling in complete awe from the smooth of the enamel against his fingertip, how the gloss of the pin gleams under the stark white lights despite its age. It scares Wonwoo.

"I can't believe you still have it," Soonyoung whispers, left arm going under the strap of his own bag so that it falls on his right, and he can prop it up on the counter next to Wonwoo's. On the hood is a similar enamel pin of some superhero mask, a childish red that's almost hot pink. It is the exact same pin that came in a set with Wonwoo's, the one they bought sometime around their second year because that's when Soonyoung got Wonwoo into anime, and they were so very lame together.

Wonwoo inhales, exhales. Mechanical and stiff as he feels every bit of cold conditioned air pricking his lungs. "Yeah," he murmurs, "me neither."

 

 

**combustion**

Wonwoo wakes to creaky joints and a barely tolerable weight in the hollow of his skull. It's another morning with the blinding sun and the Apink poster, but no messages from Soonyoung. A first.

Jeonghan texted, though. A whiny glimpse of _why didnt u go w soonyo_ —that gets cut off as soon as Wonwoo swipes left and clears the notification. He lowers his arm, shoves his phone underneath his pillow before closing his eyes again. There are two distinct voices talking outside his door, Seokmin and his boyfriend. Yesterday was a Thursday, after all.

Wonwoo lies completely still on his bed until his limbs are no longer discernable from the comforter, and Mingyu's foreign baritone disappears with the click of their front door. The hum of Seokmin's toaster harmonizes with his muffled whistling, spurring Wonwoo to drag himself out of bed because he doesn't need Seokmin fussing over him to go to work. It's not what Wonwoo wants to hear from Seokmin's mouth.

"Have a nice day," Seokmin tells him on his way out, smile so bright and white Wonwoo fears that he'll develop cataracts before the age of thirty. Wonwoo flashes a tiny grin in return, but no, that's not what he wants to hear from Seokmin either. The exact combination of words needed to clear the fog in his head is not something Wonwoo knows specifically, and with the whole Soonyoung situation, he can't do much but grip harder onto the stanchion by the bus exit. The white of his knuckles look more jaundiced than anything, a far cry from Soonyoung's ruddy pink.

A part of him wants to believe that Soonyoung didn't happen. It's just that between his chronic migraine and the tack of dried-up soda spillage preventing him from taking a single step away from the cold stanchion, Wonwoo is forced to accept the idea that the universe is against him. Said idea is solidified in the form of a text from Soonyoung, which Wonwoo mistakenly opens instead of ignoring because the vibration in his jeans pocket shocked him to do so out of reflex.

 _are u always this late for work???_ it read.

Everything is suddenly ten times more concrete; the chill of metal in his clammy hands, the chatter of housewives behind him which he's now able to discern as a serious discussion regarding mercury in salmon fish, how loudly the schoolgirl before him is breathing, the forceful rise and fall of her chest as she keeps her head down. The fuzzy edges of Wonwoo's ratty shoes have gained a sharp quality to them, to the point where Wonwoo can see every scuff and stain.

Reality has become more palpable in the sense that Wonwoo can't run away anymore. Soonyoung's caught up to him, vice-like grip on Wonwoo tiring him out. To brace himself for the next ten hours or so is all he can do now. If there's no status quo, he'll make one. His fingers are shaking but that's alright. Things will work out just fine. Shaky fingers won't stop him from prying Soonyoung's pudgier digits away, off his wrist. He grants himself this bit of optimism only because it's deserved, and he's yawning too loudly for it to only be half-past ten in the morning.

 _yes_ , he replies.

Wonwoo enters the shopping mall without any more messages from Soonyoung. His heart beats slow yet loud, knocking against his lungs in tandem with his footsteps. Dread simmers quietly in the base of his stomach as he gets on the escalator to the third floor, walk straight to the last computer shop in the first block; it bubbles up and overflows into a paralyzing sensation in his legs when he sees Soonyoung sorting through packets of HDMI cables, wearing the supposed employee polo tee that Wonwoo has long discarded, with its ugly yellow collar and black fabric making every speck of dust apparent.

Soonyoung turns his head around at the sound of Wonwoo stepping into the store, lips stretched as he beams, teeth familiar and it stabs Wonwoo's guts. "You're earlier than I thought," he says. He doesn't sound as frantic or sheepish as yesterday, but it's odd, Wonwoo thinks; Soonyoung's voice is the way he remembers it to be, but the words don't come out right. It's like someone stole Soonyoung's voice in an elaborate attempt to mock Wonwoo.

"My roommate woke me up," Wonwoo mumbles, making his way to his home behind the counter. The store smells like it always does; a hint of cheese thrown into the odd mix of artificial jasmine and metal. The air freshener above him hisses, spritzes the fragrance to the top of his head which flinches at the sound. It grabs Soonyoung's attention, but he spares Wonwoo any prying comments he might have. "You, uh, work part-time or?"

"Fulltime." Soonyoung turns his back on Wonwoo, stacking the cables on vacant shelves. He does a thorough job of it, rag in one hand wiping away any dust before he arranges the clear packets in neat rows.

"Don't you go to college?" Wonwoo asks. He wants to ask more; _how've you been? Why are you here? Why are you so set on meeting me?_ Baby steps. There's no need for a California scene this late in the play, not when they've known each other for so long, and this reunion is already a tragedy if he had any say in it.

Soonyoung doesn't spare Wonwoo a glance as he tersely replies, "I dropped out."

Opening their cash register with a _cha-ching_ , Wonwoo huffs. "That makes two of us," he says, sorting out change. Soonyoung chuckles in response. Wonwoo allows himself a tiny grin, but even that feels forced. It's quiet aside from the squeak of damp cloth against plastic, coins of different sizes forming some offbeat melody.

"I'm here to make amends," Soonyoung says, breaking their fragile peace with the hideous fit of the store's t-shirt on his torso, rag a ball in his hands. He stares straight ahead at Wonwoo, who manages to hold the eye contact for only a second before averting his gaze to Soonyoung's arms. They aren't any better. Anything _Soonyoung_ is bad to the core; the memories of Soonyoung are so old yet unforgettable, and Wonwoo can feel them festering in his mind. He hates how Soonyoung hasn't changed at all, despite his neat black hair, how Wonwoo can't find a single trace of baby fat on him now. As if frozen in time, his eyes remain eerily similar, the pout of his lips at rest something Wonwoo can't rip out of his skull no matter how hard he tries, how much he wants to. It is in these times that Wonwoo forces his mind to wander to Seokmin. His Seokmin with the sunny kitchen, the warm breakfasts, the Seokmin that's never _his_ —

Wonwoo claps a hand over his mouth. With one swift movement, he pushes back against the counter and frantically kicks the tiny trash bin out from under the counter. He drops to his knees, palms stinging against the hard tiles, and promptly retches into the bin. Nothing comes out, just beads of cold sweat and tears beckoning for Soonyoung to rush to his side. Soonyoung calling him, _are you okay? Wonwoo, what's wrong?_ while running a hand across Wonwoo's shoulder blades feels too distant, syllables gurgled as if they're underwater.

"What amends?" Wonwoo chokes out in between labored breaths. Soonyoung's hand burns on his back. "I'm— _fuck_ —why the _fuck_ are you _here_?"

"I'm sorry," Soonyoung offers. "I'm sorry, Wonwoo, I'm _sorry_." He repeats the line over and over again, hand rubbing up and down Wonwoo's back doing nothing but make Wonwoo lean further towards the bin, until his forehead eventually touches its plastic rim.

 

 

"Heard about your little attack this afternoon," Jeonghan says. He strolls to the ledge where Wonwoo's perched upon, a couple feet away from the loud air vents. A bottle of water is shoved into his face, and Wonwoo accepts it with a quiet _thanks_.

He takes a sip. "Presentation went well?"

"More or less." Jeonghan shrugs. Wonwoo recalls the once rigid slope of Jeonghan's shoulders, back when they were in high school. It changed some time around their second year, or halfway through the third, Wonwoo can't exactly pinpoint when from how gradual the change was, how his shoulders are now mostly defeated with hopeful sparks if he looks hard enough. Jeonghan shed away whatever personality he had fostered for nearly two decades for one Lee Seokmin. The same Seokmin who is Wonwoo's roommate and crush out of necessity. Jeonghan has been working on it, reassembling the pieces he's gathered most haphazardly but he tries to care; the knowledge that he'll never turn out the same as he was before weighs heavily in his mind. This, Wonwoo is aware of.

Wonwoo distinctly remembers withholding the fact of him being roommates with Seokmin from Jeonghan. This lasted for an unimpressive two months before a drunken blunder, where Jeonghan had to take him home and Seokmin had opened the door, megawatt smile sewed on his face forever. Jeonghan never told Wonwoo off for it, but he decked Wonwoo right in the face the day after, swiftly and coolly as if it were obligatory. Wonwoo remembers apologizing.

"So," Jeonghan clears his throat before resuming, "you okay now?" He's so nonchalant that the effort shows through. Wonwoo's ego feels better hearing the concealed worry in Jeonghan's voice.

"Peachy," Wonwoo quips a little too sharply than the situation calls for, but Jeonghan doesn't mind, twisting open his own bottle. "Wanna go for drinks later?"

The drawstrings of Jeonghan's ratty, pink hoodie sways from the continuous puffs of warm air from the vents. Like everything Jeonghan, they're quiet, as subtle as the smiles that creep onto his sleepy features, corners of his lips tugged slightly to deliver his soft words in a nasal voice. "Sure."

 

 

"Nothing much happened, really," Wonwoo murmurs, tongue coated in gin. "He kept apologizing, and Bora came out to see what the noise was all about. She forced me to take an early break, I told her it's fine. 

An hour, three drinks in, and Wonwoo can't feel much of his limbs. The brain is a warm, fuzzy thing and there is a latent heat in his eyes, making them dry from the inside out and hard to open. Jeonghan watches him closely; Wonwoo sees red lips slick from alcohol.

"Did Soonyoung say anything after?" Jeonghan slurs his words together. The sweet scent of Redbull is sour with vodka and Jeonghan's breath; Wonwoo allows his lids to slip shut, the insides of his mouth shriveling up when he gulps his spit, warning him of morning cottonmouth.

"No," he rasps out. Playing against his eyelids are intrusive slideshows of Jeonghan's lips shining under the dim bar lights. He wonders if Jeonghan is as flushed as he feels, cheeks hot to the touch. "I need to get back soon," he says abruptly. He wants to see Seokmin. He wants a whopping plate of pancakes. He wants Jeonghan out of his head every time he's vulnerable and alone.

There is an inherent selfishness in Wonwoo, a greed he hopes is only known to himself. "Okay," Jeonghan tells him, and he gets up, movements clean without the jerk of booze. Wonwoo glances at the table and realizes that he's not three, but four drinks in. Jeonghan's face isn't flushed. Embarrassment boils his stomach twice over and all Wonwoo can do is gulp again, dry and painful.

To get up from his seat in a dignified manner proves to be near impossible; Wonwoo locks his knees in place but his elbow knocks over a glass that Jeonghan doesn't catch in time. The glass smashes itself against the floor, fine glass pieces shot across the floor in all directions, and Jeonghan has an iron grip on Wonwoo's arm. His face is gaunt under these lights, Wonwoo observes, like Jeonghan expected this to happen. The anticipation is clear in the firm line of his mouth, sweep of lashes obscuring what he knows from Wonwoo. He knows why he wants Jeonghan in moments like this, how there will always be a hand holding his but Wonwoo is forever kept in the dark. It's a simple desire when it's not, because all Wonwoo wants is to pull them both out of the dark. Competition dictates that either one of them will save the other first and thus boil the saved with guilt, or they'll stay where they are forever. Someone is forced to be the hero.

Wonwoo doesn't want to let himself dream up a third option.

"I'll take you home," Jeonghan says. A waiter rushes to them and Jeonghan settles their bill in a blur. Wonwoo blinks, and when he opens his eyes, they're walking outside. The streets don't feel like spring this late into the evening.

"Are you sure about that?" Wonwoo pushes his weight onto Jeonghan, legs wobbly. "Seokmin could be home."

Jeonghan scoffs at that, a little offended. "You told me he's out every Friday evening." Wonwoo mutters an apology in response. It's a whole block before Jeonghan speaks up again, with more bravado this time, "Even if he's home, so what?"

Wonwoo goes quiet. "Sorry," he offers weakly out of habit than sincerity.

"Seokmin was a long time ago," Jeonghan whispers, "he's not a problem anymore."

 _Not as long as you'd like to think_ , Wonwoo wants to say, but he's enough of an asshole already.

They reach his apartment, and Wonwoo fishes out his key to clumsily open the door. The lights are out and Seokmin's shoes are gone. Wonwoo tells Jeonghan to come in, put his bag down, use the bathroom, whatever. "It's too late for you to go home by yourself," he says. Frankly, he just needs the company.

Wonwoo's old computer is a fifteen-inch dinosaur. He dusts off the screen before starting up a movie. On the couch with Jeonghan nestled beside him, it takes Wonwoo more than a couple of minutes before realizing that it's not a movie they're watching; it's an anime, and Jeonghan turns to Wonwoo to tell him just that.

"You wanna keep watching this?" he asks.

Wonwoo can't answer, tongue frozen in his mouth while his gaze sweeps down to Jeonghan's. It all happens much too fast; Wonwoo diving in expecting the acrid sweetness of Redbull, the hand clapped over his mouth, Jeonghan once again looking like he knew what was coming.

"You don't want this," Jeonghan murmurs. Both their lips are against Jeonghan's hand, and Wonwoo wonders if Jeonghan can feel his pulse trying to outrun itself. His blood is loud in his ears, to the point where it rings, a sharp pain in his temples.

Jeonghan pushes his face away before leaning in, slotting his chin onto Wonwoo's shoulder, arms loosely around him. "I know you're lonely," he carefully says, "but we're not replacements." Wonwoo can't help but feel threatened by the gentle voice, so he doesn't dare move a muscle, allowing Jeonghan to hold him as they are now. He can't trust himself to not do anything that might make Jeonghan leave. "Go back to your bed. I'll crash here."

Wonwoo clambers off the couch like a ghost, feet creaky and arms wispy when Jeonghan's fingers brush against them. "Sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay," Jeonghan sighs. He gives Wonwoo a tight smile, his peace offering. "Goodnight, Wonwoo."

 

 

**flare**

Wonwoo wakes to utter silence, a lone bird chirping outside for a bit before it flies off, leaving him alone with the ringing of dust settling on his skin and a horrid case of cottonmouth.

When he finally exits his room, it's to the lack of Jeonghan. The computer has been shut down, wrinkles on the couch patted away somewhat. No breakfast means no Seokmin, but it's a Saturday. Seokmin doesn't make breakfast on weekends. The door is unlocked when Wonwoo turns the knob, and he has half the mind to scold Jeonghan before deciding that no, he can't be bothered to. Jeonghan knows just as much as he does that there's nothing worth stealing here.

Wonwoo has Sundays off. He gets on the bus, more colorful than the uniform droll of the weekdays with shorter skirts and less ties. The mall is significantly warmer, every step of the escalator occupied by two pairs of legs, and Wonwoo can't walk up. It's oddly more onerous this way, watching the ground floor narrow in the distance, gravity taunting his elbow on the handrail. Wonwoo shivers slightly before tucking his arm back against his side.

He takes deep breaths while recounting last night and anticipating the present. Wonwoo doubts he ruined anything between him and Jeonghan, but to talk would be nice. It'd be ideal to grab a bite together as he prattles on to Jeonghan about how he's learned to be psychic as well, shoulders strong and back straighter because he knows what he's dealing with now. He knows that in thirty more steps is Bora's store, Soonyoung, and shards of old dignity screaming at him to keep it together.

"Good morning." Wonwoo beats Soonyoung to the greeting, but it comes out hushed and weak. Soonyoung's expression tells that he's guessing the greeting instead of hearing it.

"Morning." Soonyoung's voice sounds like it passed through a megaphone before reaching Wonwoo's eardrums. "You're a little late today."

The shelves are considerably brighter with someone diligent enough to walk around and dust before stocking. Inhaling should feel easier, but Wonwoo runs his tongue against the dry roof of his mouth, gulps spit like it would clear the lump in his throat and get air in his lungs. "I guess I am," he says the best he can, the words strangled and most likely drowned out by the mall's constant buzz.

Soonyoung doesn't say anything after. The shelf is fully stacked, perfect from left to right, and Wonwoo watches Soonyoung contemplate before deciding to squat down, stack the bottom shelves before dealing with the last two on top. A sliver of green peeks out from under Soonyoung's jeans; Wonwoo chuckles at that, the ridiculous view of Soonyoung's ass nearly touching the floor. It gets Soonyoung's head to turn.

For a fleeting second under these stark lights, Wonwoo feels seventeen again; seated behind Soonyoung and watching his shirt wrinkle as the day stretches on, the band of his colorful underwear revealed whenever he slumped down his chair, how he was so certain that Soonyoung was smiling at him whenever he looked back even though Wonwoo couldn't see the upturned corners of his lips.

He sees it again, reliving the moment in some nondescript back, cheeks pushed up to hide eyes and there it is, the smile. Wonwoo can't help but return it, allowing himself to beam at Soonyoung from behind the counter. Soonyoung deserves as much. There's no use running away any farther, not when Soonyoung has him cornered and Wonwoo has his debts stacked up high over his head.

"Wanna help me a bit?" Soonyoung asks, a little bashful as he waves a still-packaged thumb drive in Wonwoo's direction.

Wonwoo steps away from the counter, grin still playing around his lips. "Okay," he says, squatting down right next to Soonyoung, to the point where their knees touch.

It's time to pay up, Wonwoo guesses. He's long overdue.

 

 

It's been a good day at work. The tension between Wonwoo and Soonyoung is no longer as hostile—or charged, Wonwoo isn't sure what's between them yet—as it was yesterday. Jeonghan came by with an upsized milkshake. Wonwoo had apologized to him, and Jeonghan told him _it's okay, it happens to the best of us, you didn't do anything_. The sincerity of Jeonghan's cliched words is something only he's able to pull off, and for that Wonwoo is infinitely grateful.

When they were closing, Soonyoung locked up, throwing the keys to Wonwoo who threw them back to him because Soonyoung will be early. He knows Soonyoung will be the earlier one from now on. There were too many smiles and well-mannered words exchanged between the two of them for Jeonghan to not notice, for Wonwoo to feel like he can forget about yesterday. He doesn't mind today at all; in fact, a funnily happy thought tells him that if he can have maybe about forty more of days like today, he can forget about four years ago. That should be enough time for him to wipe the slate clean, re-calibrate what exactly the name _Kwon Soonyoung_ means to him, get it in his head that they're not the same after all, even if the Soonyoung before him scratches his elbow the same way when he laughs bashfully like he used to.

So, Jeonghan noticed. "Getting friendly?" he asked when Soonyoung went to the restroom. "Think you can handle it?"

As of that moment, the answer was no. They both knew, but Wonwoo threw the question back at Jeonghan anyway. "Handle what?"

"Your fucking deal when it comes to Soonyoung," Jeonghan whispered, like he was afraid that Soonyoung was within earshot and the walls were paper thin. They weren't. "Handle _that_."

There was definitely desperation in Jeonghan's words. Wonwoo couldn't pinpoint the source exactly, between some void ripped between them from years of skirting around the incident and maybe the fact that everything is so close now; they're near the end they've been dreaming of every night, evenings at the bar with just the two of them more regret than nostalgia. It must be so frustrating to be the middle man when the two loose ends you're supposed to tie back together are frayed beyond belief, and two loose ends seem more like a hundred little threads strewn about their mess. Jeonghan wasn't supposed to be a part of this.

"I'll try." It was a weak promise, but it's the least Wonwoo could do for Jeonghan.

That was a little over a couple hours ago. It's nearing twelve midnight, now. In the dark of his room, Wonwoo lies down and as he promised, tries to see farther ahead while soaking up the long-kept remnants of his own misery. It gets easier over the years. Wonwoo closes his eyes and imagines the shop, Soonyoung between the shelves, dust on his hands and Wonwoo is concerned over the cut Soonyoung got earlier in the morning. It wasn't deep, but in his mind, it was deep enough to hurt and bleed through the first band-aid. So Wonwoo worries. In his imaginary shop, Wonwoo bites his nails behind the counter wondering if he should take over for the day. They're just shelves and dust and packets to arrange in order of the cable's thickness. _Go behind the counter for the day_ , he should say, _you know how to work the register, don't you?_

 _Why are you here?_ was Wonwoo's first question, though. It's three in the morning; work is in six hours and Wonwoo is sure he knows why.

 

 

**spark (mens rea)**

Wonwoo feared lighters. He remembers fingers stumbling to light incense whenever his parents took him to his grandparents' grave, how he thought the flame would burn his thumb that was right beside it. He used to think the lighter would blow up if he were to drop it.

Fire itself wasn't something comforting either. The warmth cloyed, drawing sweat out of skin and making Wonwoo flinch whenever the flames got too high. Accustomed to the blue of computer screens, the fire's gold was more repulsive than anything to him.

"I downloaded the new episode," Soonyoung said after school. Memories of this particular time always came to Wonwoo drenched in orange, fire of the sunset beyond the woods right beside their school, growing muddier until the orange turned to sepia. "Wanna come over and watch?" He still had braces at this point, face changing just slightly with his buckteeth pushed back to follow the rest in a neat row. Wonwoo watched the shadows on Soonyoung's features shift, scrambling into position to form the face he's been familiar with ever since.

Blue was associated with Soonyoung, as was his old laptop—an old hand-me-down from his father that needed ten minutes to start up the word processor. Soonyoung would plug in his thumb drive, an old thing that matched Wonwoo's, red and blue respectively. Soonyoung bought them.

 _Samurai Flamenco_ was still airing. The episodes were Wonwoo's personal chronology; each week was punctuated by one and a quick trip down to Wikipedia forces him to relive the memories of wooden desks and chalk dust. If not in class, then he'd be in Soonyoung's room with the dying laptop and quick syllables of Japanese. They watched the series in Soonyoung's bed most of the time, school slacks off so they were huddled under the sheets in boxers and their starched white shirts. Whenever Wonwoo sleeps with someone these days, he's reminded of how Soonyoung's bare calves brushed against his, and he can't continue, at least not without being somewhere else, the touching just a means to the end that is his ten-second satisfaction.

This was the first Soonyoung he knew. This was seven years ago, when they were freshmen in high school.

Then _Samurai Flamenco_ finished airing. Soonyoung got the DVDs, the subtlest of their merchandise, the pins. Wonwoo noticed it eventually, how no one was ever home in his two years of visiting the house. _Work_ , Soonyoung had said. They were friendly the one time Wonwoo got to see them—a father, a mother, an older sister.

"If you were to marry my sister," Soonyoung started one afternoon over games, "you'll be my brother." The suggestion was so impossible and simplistic that Wonwoo couldn't help his mocking groan. Soonyoung laughed it off, but his smile was quiet. "That'd be nice."

"Why?" Wonwoo asked despite the blatant answer.

"Someone would be around," Soonyoung told him, voice small. Then he started giggling out of embarrassment, face red and character dead on the TV.

"I don't swing that way," Wonwoo confessed. He wondered if it was too prompt, and added, "I think," as an afterthought. It was alright to tell Soonyoung. Jeonghan was with Seokmin, after all. Understanding was something they were expected to do, and Soonyoung did with a toothy grin.

"I will allow a secret affair," he quipped.

 

 

Things took a strange turn during sophomore year as spring turned to summer. Jeonghan slowly became someone else, as if the act of constantly holding Seokmin's hand turned him into the guy himself. Soonyoung had closed himself off too, inviting Wonwoo less to his house as he hung around with a senior from the neighboring evening academy. That was when Wonwoo knew Joohyun; slim and pretty next to Soonyoung as they pranced around town.

She came up to him occasionally; _Soonyoung's skipping today, can you cover for him?_ Her soft voice was in sharp contrast to her words, biting and reeking of smoke and the fall of her hair down delicate shoulders looked more like ashes than anything. A couple of months after, and talking to Soonyoung became the same experience of smoke, soot, ashes. While he's always remembered Soonyoung with blonde hair, this was when he dyed it. It was the same dark brown as Wonwoo's before.

"Please keep an eye on your friend," their form teacher requested of him.

Wonwoo was going to, but Soonyoung had caught on to him first. _The old park by Jeonghan's complex_ , he told Wonwoo, smile quiet, split ends of his hair covering his eyes.

Soonyoung held a lighter then; it was so small in his grip, looking harmless unlike how it felt in Wonwoo's hands as a child. The lack of Joohyun forced Wonwoo to deal with the reality that who he's talking to was supposedly his best friend and complete anime geek, Kwon Soonyoung. Despite the deft thumb starting a light so effortlessly, barely flinching when the wind blows it over to graze a nail, it was still the Soonyoung he knew. Wonwoo shouldn't feel as scared as he was.

"Promise not to judge?" he pleaded. Wonwoo nodded because no, he would never. Not even if Soonyoung were to set him on fire right then and there. "Okay."

He let the flame die and took out scraps of paper and used tissues from his pocket, telling Wonwoo to squat down with him as he arranged the trash into a neat circle. The last piece of paper pinched between his fingers was poised before the lighter, and with a _click_ it burned slowly, orange eating away at white so viciously it was black where they met. Wonwoo watched the splotches of brown form, heart threatening to crawl out of his throat when the flames got too close to Soonyoung's skin. Soonyoung tidily placed the burning paper on top of his pile, effectively setting off a mini bonfire while beaming like it was the most beautiful thing, like he wasn't aware of the throbbing heat the flames would bring to his flesh.

"Joohyun is an arsonist," he said. "She got me into this whole thing."

"Sounds like bad company," Wonwoo commented, pursing his lips tight immediately once he realized how off-putting that must've sounded.

But this was Soonyoung, and he avoided confrontation. In retrospect, that could've been why they worked so well together, and why they fell out. The glass shards got swept down the rug every time they broke something, what wounds they could see patched up quickly and so often they could do it with their eyes closed.

"She kinda was, huh?" Soonyoung laughed it off, like he always did with everything, but Wonwoo could tell he was offended from the hard set of his jaw once the smile faded. "We had the same circumstances."

The empty home, the slight hunch of their backs, how Soonyoung held Joohyun's little hands too tightly every time Wonwoo caught them making out behind the school building. "I get it," he said.

"We broke up last week." Wonwoo counted down the months in his head—they were together for a fleeting five months only. "Joohyun wants to continue all this but I—I want to stop."

The flames rose, and Wonwoo was so close to Soonyoung he was sweating; from the heat of Soonyoung pressed next to him, knees knocking, and the bonfire that was too large for the pile it was birthed from. A breeze blew the flames in Wonwoo's way and he felt a spark lick his bare arm. His hand gripped Soonyoung's without thinking, nails digging into skin as they watched the fire die out, white pile charred with embers dotting the surface. Wonwoo was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, mouth dry. Soonyoung asked if he was okay before helping Wonwoo up, telling him to stomp on the sooty mess and get ashes all over his shoes.

"I have wet wipes in my bag," Soonyoung muttered. "For the soot."

This was the second Soonyoung Wonwoo knew. Smoke and tar underneath the powdery feel of his skin from overusing the wet wipes. Hair practically fried from the bad bleach job he did at home; Wonwoo helped him touch up his roots once, watched how Soonyoung winced from how it burned his scalp. This Soonyoung had learned how his smile worked, how to get away when the teacher calls him out for his hair and new piercings, for the times smoke came up in the conversation and he meets Wonwoo's eyes briefly as if to shush him, imploring.

 

 

They were still friends. Soonyoung started inviting him over again, reruns of _Samurai Flamenco_ burning each scene to Wonwoo's brain. It got harder to get through the episodes not because he was bored of them, but because Wonwoo knew there was no hero for Soonyoung. He said he was going to quit the smoking, the burning, keeping lighters in every bag he owned, in every coat pocket. Soonyoung said, but he didn't. The strong talc of wet wipes became his new signature scent, and looking at how Jeonghan grew duller by the day, grip on Seokmin loosened and smile stuck permanently in a grimace, Wonwoo wondered if that was what he was going to be.

The flames didn't scare him anymore.

By winter, going to the clearing in the middle of the woods by their school had become their new habit. Wonwoo's old laptop had been collecting dust in the corner of his room, but their zippo lighters were brand new, plain silver and gold as they flicked the lid open, let flames crawl upon their worksheets, eating them halfway. Drop to the snow, and the flames grew small, requiring them to light the corner up once more until the white melted off to grey water.

"It's calming, right?" Soonyoung asked once. Wonwoo nodded. This was how their conversations went those days. "What're you gonna do after graduation?"

They were lighting matches that day, dragging the sticks and allowing the flame to trickle down to their fingers before throwing them onto the wet ground. "I don't know." Wonwoo stretched his arm out, squinting his eyes to see how Soonyoung would look through a veil of flames. He couldn't see much other than teeth. "Why?"

"Wanna go on a trip?" Soonyoung scooted closer, giddy grin splitting his face in half. It had been a while since Wonwoo caught him looking like that. It had been a while since they were this happy to be together. "Jeonghan said we can join him and Seokmin for Japan."

Wonwoo laughed when he didn't need to, nodding his head as he thought of the plane ride, if he would sit next to Soonyoung and they'd snooze on each other's shoulders. "I'll ask my mom."

That's a yes to Soonyoung. He struck another match, blew it in Wonwoo's face as if it were a birthday candle. "Save up, Wonwoo."

 

 

Come the third year of high school, their flames were hotter and taller than ever. Between four hours of sleep a day and college applications, Wonwoo and Soonyoung burned more papers than the school did; the calm no longer swift and they had to get more paper, more fire dancing in their eyes before spring hit them and rain doused everything that bid their lungs to open, take in bitter air because there was never enough soot for the both of them. Before mock exams, they'd play with gasoline, draw tracks on the ground and watch the fire eat up oil.

At this point, talc had become Wonwoo's scent too. Weekends were spent walking around desolate areas to find burning spots, knees screaming by the evening but their faces were gleeful, hearts sated for the meantime. Cigarettes meant less food needed, meant more money to go into their savings for the trip next spring.

Wonwoo watched Jeonghan and Seokmin speak less to each other, Jeonghan attracted to the other like he couldn't help it, glued to Seokmin's side. When Jeonghan wasn't around Seokmin, he was transparent. He didn't know what to do, greeting Soonyoung and Wonwoo so awkwardly Wonwoo had to wonder if it was really Jeonghan standing before them.

"Joohyun changed her number," Soonyoung announced one afternoon, followed by, "and my parents got divorced."

"Oh," was Wonwoo's insipid response to the news. He had worksheets in his hands, worksheets the school declared mandatory to be shown to parents, but he never did because everything had to be burned by Sunday.

"I saw it coming," Soonyoung lied. Wonwoo saw through him as he saw through Jeonghan. He never knew what to do, though, too used to quick touch-ups and dismissal to comfort Soonyoung the way he needed to be. They went back to Soonyoung's house that afternoon, deathly silent from the documents laid out so gracefully atop the kitchen counter. Wonwoo saw the signatures and fresh print on white paper barely touched by dust.

The first time they ever kissed was on that afternoon. Bare legs tangled under the sheets but their shirts were intact. Wonwoo remembers sweating in the winter, heat between them stifling and he forgot how to breathe through his nose, panting into Soonyoung's mouth. Soonyoung stopped kissing back after a while, though; face blank and blinking at the ceiling, then at Wonwoo, like he was asking for answers to a question he didn't have.

"Let's shower," Wonwoo told him. Soonyoung complied wordlessly. Even after the soap and scrubbing, he could still smell smoke in Soonyoung's hair, tar on his fingertips. He was still too young to think it was okay to kiss Soonyoung's fingers one by one.

In bed, Soonyoung had whispered, "You know that tiny storehouse close to the clearing?"

"I know."

Wonwoo remembers cradling Soonyoung's head, Soonyoung's arms around his waist, the clean scent laundered clothes. "Let's burn it. The whole thing, down to the ground."

Soonyoung suggested this with the calm indifference of someone asking Wonwoo if he'd like to have ramen for lunch instead of bread. The reality was that they were arsonists—underaged and in their final year of high school. They had yet to hear back from the universities. The storehouse in question wasn't the smallest building, measuring at least three-hundred feet squared made of wood and steel that would surely birth a fire too big for them to put out with only snow. Someone would report them, and they'd be sent somewhere. Wonwoo foresaw all this while running his fingers through Soonyoung's hair.

"Risky," he whispered back, wholly frightened of the idea.

"We'll run away," Soonyoung assured him. "We know the woods better than anyone, Wonwoo, we'll run before anyone gets us."

Soonyoung held him tighter, told Wonwoo that everything will be okay, nothing would happen to them. It was supposed to be the other way around, Wonwoo mused bitterly, inhaling deeply the smoke underneath minty shampoo to force sleep upon himself.

 

 

**hellion**

Two weeks or so go by peacefully in their newfound camaraderie. No more attacks, no suffocating tension, no excessive drinking or escapist daydreams of Seokmin. Wonwoo is clean.

He can sense the growing impatience between him and Soonyoung, however. The texts aren't always answered, and they're still avoiding each other outside of work. Soonyoung asked Wonwoo out for lunch once. Wonwoo told him no.

In the end, Soonyoung isn't here for fun. Wonwoo doesn't know why he's waiting for Soonyoung to snap and make things worse for the two of them, for himself. Why Soonyoung bothered to track him down is blatantly simple; he wants his apology. It's long overdue and Wonwoo can't pretend he doesn't know anything forever. Soonyoung's bound to pin him down and strangle the _sorry_ out of him, one of these days.

Maybe that's why he's waiting. For Soonyoung to shed his own pretense of being so friendly, working in such close quarters with Wonwoo for nearly twelve hours a day. Once that's off, he'll finally see Soonyoung livid for the second time in his life; Soonyoung's only ever been truly angry once. Wonwoo thought the fascination is grotesque on his part, but he needs it. He wants to be the one to make Soonyoung so mad he'll just drop Wonwoo here, never waste another second of his life to string words into his inbox or knock on his door ever again.

That scenario can potentially ruin Wonwoo's life for another indefinite period of time, but if it pays what he owes Soonyoung, he'll endure. Living quietly is an artform he's long since perfected.

At two weeks, the smiles are intact. Add another, and Wonwoo can see the misarranged products, cables sloppily thrown together in a heap. A whole month, and the dust piles high in the store. Jeonghan doesn't say a word when he visits with his mandatory cup of boba tea, but he glares at Wonwoo before leaving.

Jeonghan had told him to handle Soonyoung, not break him. Wonwoo almost wanted to retort that he's the one getting broken instead so it's alright.

It's ten on a Wednesday evening, and they're closing up when Soonyoung turns around, smiles at Wonwoo in such a mechanical manner it raises the hairs on his arms. "Mind if we talk for a bit?"

The back of the mall is a grimy place; Wonwoo's favorite spot is thankfully not doing as bad thanks to the air vents surrounding it, loud and warm but not to the point where it gets muggy. Wonwoo eases himself down onto the ledge, and Soonyoung follows suit before getting up again, shaking his head.

"Do you still smoke?" he asks, fishing out a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket.

Wonwoo puts up a hand to decline the cigarette Soonyoung offers. "I quit last year."

"That's nice." Soonyoung says it like he's bitter, which he probably is, taking a puff to exhale white plumes. "Wish I could do that."

"Trying won't get you anywhere," Wonwoo laughs. It's true, though, he didn't quit from sheer willpower or some inherent drive to become better. He's just thrown up too many times from the nicotine and tar; seeing the flames licking from the other end yet so close to his fingers makes him want to pass out.

The whirr of air vents and Soonyoung's lips smacking against the filter of his cigarette keep the air between them busy until Soonyoung bothers to speak up again, smoke leaving his mouth with every word. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Wonwoo had anticipated their unannounced cold war to last for at least three months. It took only one month and three days, for which Wonwoo doesn't know if he should be grateful or mourning. They're just done with work and Wonwoo's tired.

"I think I do." He turns his hands around, picks at the dirt under his nails. "You want me to say sorry, right?" Soonyoung widens his eyes at this, grimacing around his cigarette and breath coming out in thick clouds of white. "I know I'm late, I'm sorry, but—"

"I didn't come here for your _fucking_ apology, Wonwoo," Soonyoung cuts him off, voice shrill and shaky and cracking at the edges. "I didn't spend a month—no— _four whole years_ , waiting in radio silence, to get a tiny _I'm sorry_ from you, no." With his cigarette stomped out in the middle of his outburst, Soonyoung can't keep himself from chewing his bottom lip. He wheezes, chews, licks over the red and repeats from the beginning. " _Fuck_ ," he swears under his breath, pushing his hair out of his face and Wonwoo sees flushed cheeks, bright eyes waiting for permission to shed tears. It takes him back to high school, to the one time he's ever made Soonyoung literally see red.

"What do you want from me then?" Wonwoo is glad that he's seated on the ledge, because all strength has left his knees and he can't find it in him to stand up, properly challenge Soonyoung eye-to-eye. It's better not to anyway; Soonyoung wouldn't want Wonwoo to see him cry. Wonwoo doesn't want to cry in front of Soonyoung for the second time either. If his own voice starts cracking, no one's going to laugh. This by itself is a comforting thought. "Why would you come look for me? I know you didn't graduate—I know the uni cancelled their offer, I _know_ , Soonyoung, I know and I remember every day that it was _my_ fucking _fault_."

Fat drops of tears roll down Soonyoung's blotchy cheeks, and from how blurred out his vision is, Wonwoo knows he looks the same. Soonyoung kneels before Wonwoo, leaning forward to carefully wrap his arms around Wonwoo's shoulder. "Just shut up for a sec," he says, muffled. Wonwoo can hear Soonyoung's sob beckoning him to do the same, fingers clawing at the back of Soonyoung's shirt.

"I'm sorry," Wonwoo murmurs into Soonyoung's shoulder, but his voice is gone.

 

 

**concurrence (actus reus)**

On the promised day, Wonwoo trailed after Soonyoung with bottles of gasoline in his drawstring bag. They knocked against his back painfully, heavy and bruising. The warmth of spring teased the snow to go runny, leaving the woods more grey than it was white.

"We should hurry," Wonwoo grunted. The drawstring dug into his shoulder and the cold made it hard to breathe through his mouth. "It's hard to run in the woods when it's dark."

"I know," Soonyoung told him. He approached the storehouse in quicker, lighter steps than Wonwoo did. Glee lit up his whole face, fingers already toying with his zippo when they haven't even doused the place in gasoline. "C'mon," he hissed, hands gesturing towards the bag of gasoline bottles because there was no time like the present; night would make it hard to run, and the blaze would be too bright to not warrant attention from their school's nightguards.

Arson in general must look silly, Wonwoo mused in his head far, far away from whatever was happening. The hand splashing oil onto old wood wasn't his, nor were the feet taking him around the storehouse, making sure the gasoline covered the windows, the pipes, nooks where rotten wood caved in. Their bonfire should reach the heavens, Soonyoung had told him, but Wonwoo couldn't help the dread swirling in his guts. He popped the collar of his coat, zipped it all the way up as a makeshift mask and pulled the hood over his head.

"Ready?" Soonyoung huffed, throwing the last empty bottle into melting snow. His hands were shaking, but not out of fear like Wonwoo's were, at least he didn't think so.

"Ready." He held onto Soonyoung anyway, gripping his fingers hard if only to stop his own from trembling so much. Zippos wouldn't work here, they needed to throw a few matches in to get the fire going. Three rounds of rock-paper-scissors chose Soonyoung to strike first.

 

 

When Soonyoung was with Joohyun, Wonwoo had Seulgi as company. She was his cousin, twice removed, but she felt more like a sister in those few months where Wonwoo filled the void Soonyoung had left him with Seulgi's floral perfume and quiet disposition. 

"I broke up with my boyfriend two days ago," she spoke up as her character died. She didn't press the respawn button, exiting to the main menu to play a mindless minigame instead.

Wonwoo wiped his sweaty hands dry before picking up his controller again. "And?"

"Hm. Just wanted to tell someone, I guess."

Wonwoo hummed in agreement, thinking that it would be okay for him to probe further. Seulgi liked being the cooler older sister to him, made sure everyone knew that she had two years more of everything compared to Wonwoo. "How did it happen?" he asked innocently, eyes focused on the TV as his fingers pressed the same button nonstop to beat the minigame.

Seulgi didn't respond immediately. She chewed on her lip, weighing the words out before rolling them off her tongue. "He said I didn't talk enough. That I never talk when I need to." Silence. Wonwoo urged Seulgi to continue with a small hum. "He said he never knew if I was genuinely angry, or sad, or happy. Like he was dating a mannequin."

"Have you guys ever fought before?"

Seulgi giggled at this, faltering and losing the minigame in the process. "A really big fight once. I hit him."

"How hard?"

Wonwoo's cheeks met Seulgi's sharp knuckles; barely touching, but he could imagine the hurt. "Pretty hard. Once on the face, then I kicked him in the balls."

In Soonyoung's absence, Wonwoo had to watch Seulgi go through her days of taking time off university. She would wear the same hoodie for a whole week, eat a whole sleeve of saltines when she thought no one was looking. Wonwoo watched her bathe in her solitude for hours on end, messy with what she said was guilt.

After everything was said and done, lying down next to Seulgi with their faces in game consoles made him realize that they were two sides of the same coin. Same guilt, same resentment underneath. But where Seulgi spent months screaming internally _why couldn't I_ , Wonwoo's question was _why did I_.

Seulgi's guilt caught up with her too late along with her consciousness—she was innocent during her breakup, her dropping out of university. Wonwoo couldn't say the same for himself when he was wholly there, when he was capable of saving both Soonyoung and himself.

Wonwoo didn't have the luxury of lathering himself in guilt; he had to be devoured by it.

 

 

It's scary just how much clarity Wonwoo can recall that late afternoon with. Four matches, he remembers, thrown at the four corners of the storehouse. The fire started small, eating the gasoline up to circle the house and slowly, orange licked the wooden walls, nibbled the window's corners. It was serene; bright and blistering hot with waves of hot wind slapping their faces.

They forgot to check for flammables, however, and what must've been a gas tank blew up one corner of the house; fire rapidly melting ice, the explosion sending wood flying to the center of the clearing, splinters stuck in snow with dying embers. Someone must've heard; it was deafening from how close they are to the burning storehouse, and Wonwoo started wheezing. It was hard to breathe. The fire was barely a foot away from him, so hot it felt like the flames had already singed his skin. One gust of wind to his direction was all it would take to burn Wonwoo alive.

Another explosion from the same corner, and Wonwoo couldn't help the scream ripping out of his parched throat. He inhaled deep from the mistake, and choked on smoke; it stung the insides of his neck, his chest, brought forth the tears in his eyes. Wonwoo tried his best to keep his breathing small, desperate for clean air and an extinguisher—their flames weren't going to reach heaven, they were drawn from hell itself and Wonwoo couldn't find the peace of their little bonfires, of sizzling twigs and crackling paper.

A distance away from him was Soonyoung, the grin on his sweaty face wide and beatific but it wasn't a grin Wonwoo recognized. This was the third Soonyoung Wonwoo was forced to know; something so hellish that it terrified Wonwoo, carried the long-forgotten horror of fire back into Wonwoo's heart.

When the sirens blared, Wonwoo was the first to run. Hood up and face hidden, he ran across the clearing, slipping between trees to follow the path which led to the stream. He trekked it with Soonyoung one weekend—Soonyoung who was lagging, huffing and wheezing behind Wonwoo while he was _whimpering_ —the sirens were so loud, _so close_. They were going to get caught like this. Wonwoo couldn't help the whines and whimpers dribbling past his lips like spit on a baby's face.

"I got you," Soonyoung hushed him, harshly gripping Wonwoo's arm to propel him forward; Wonwoo didn't realize he had caught up. "We won't get caught—throw your shoes into the stream, we'll hide behind that tree."

Wonwoo didn't bother talking back, shaky fingers doing their best to haphazardly unlace his boots. Their shoes plunged into the stream, and Soonyoung led them to tiptoe across mushy, snowless ground to reach the tree he had pointed out earlier.

They held each other tight through the sirens, the yelling of officers, the flickering flashlights. Silence covered them in nightfall at last, and Soonyoung kissed Wonwoo's temple before whispering, "Let's go home."

In Soonyoung's eerie, empty house, they washed the dirt and frost off each other; clean and dry after as if the afternoon didn't happen.

 

 

The officer managed to take pictures. Two boys; one blonde, sharp eyes, pale skin, the other covered up, making him unrecognizable save for his thin legs. It was obvious who would get caught.

The police called both of them in for questioning, but Soonyoung had no defense at all. Empty house, case record of neglect, a dysfunctional home, reports of delinquent behavior. Wonwoo's parents had come in with Seulgi, _he was playing games at home with his cousin._

Second-degree arson ruled under class D felony. The local judge considered Soonyoung's first-time offense and let him off with suspension from school for a month and three years of probation.

Wonwoo managed to get a glimpse of Soonyoung before leaving the station. After a few rounds of getting yelled at alone by officers, Soonyoung was a face drained of color, severely gaunt with lines that Wonwoo had never seen before under his eyes. There was little resentment at this point, more confusion and struggling as he tried to process _why_ and _how_. Wonwoo understood him, at least on surface level, because they were supposed to be best friends. Wonwoo would want answers too.

By the time Soonyoung's suspension was over, his hair was dark brown yet his entire being was red. Spring didn't reach him, not when his eyes were so sharp, body curled into himself for protection against the hostile whispers and cruel glances. Jeonghan had broken up with Seokmin, who moved to the big city, and it was as if he was mute. Wonwoo asked Jeonghan, who asked Soonyoung, "What happened?"

"Sent to the Juvenile Correctional Facility," Soonyoung recited back to Jeonghan, the telephone wire he became, every syllable intact and as exact as how the officers said it. Soonyoung spat the words out, making Jeonghan carry his contempt over to Wonwoo. They had kept from each other for too long, and their grime peeked out from under the rug. To have full control of their emotions was a foreign concept; Wonwoo was glad Soonyoung learned fast. Letting Soonyoung ostracize him gave Wonwoo a misshapenly attractive sense of self-satisfaction, like his guilt would go away if Soonyoung were to hate him more, hit him with all he had. So he didn't say anything when Jeonghan stopped talking to him, when Soonyoung would constantly hang his arm around Jeonghan's shoulder like it was glued there. When Jeonghan finally started smiling again, and it wasn't Wonwoo who did that. He witnessed Jeonghan fall and get himself back together but he wasn't the one who helped pick up the pieces.

Naturally, the trip was cancelled. Jeonghan and Wonwoo graduated, most uneventfully, with the rest of their peers save for Soonyoung. The suspension forced him to stay for classes until summer, abysmal grades reflecting his ambition when the university cancelled their offer for him.

Soonyoung congratulated Jeonghan after the ceremony, choking the life out of Jeonghan's wiry frame in a fit of laughter. Cherry blossoms were showering them but Wonwoo's skin felt like it was pricked by petals too reminiscent of snowflakes. Soonyoung spared him a meaningful glance. Meaningful, because Wonwoo knew Soonyoung wanted to say something, or feel something, show something to him but none of them knew what it exactly was. This isn't to say they were oblivious; it was already the most Soonyoung could do. Wonwoo nodded, as if to say thanks. When he smiled at Soonyoung, just the slightest tug at his mouth, it was to say goodbye.

 

 

Wonwoo found Joohyun again when he entered university along with Seulgi. She said she was ready to pick up where she left off, and Wonwoo was glad. Joohyun and Seulgi were, by some amazing coincidence, third-years in the same major, with at least five classes together. 

He remembers enduring; the solitude Seulgi shed he had wrapped around himself, the way a child does with his favorite blanket. He couldn't reach out much, skipping orientation and avoiding most interaction because he didn't want to waste time searching for Soonyoung amongst strangers. Fingers pointed towards him whenever he fucked up group presentations, grades slipping and whatever scholarship he had was gone.

But that was okay. At least he had the privilege to watch Seulgi walk with her chin up again. Joohyun was waiting outside Seulgi's long tunnel, under the light. Seulgi wasn't completely whole or anything, but Joohyun didn't smell like smoke nor did she wear stilettos to the convenience store as if they could protect her. He watched the two roam about the quad with quiet smiles, fingers brushing and hips knocking against each other.

"Congratulations," he said when Seulgi finally told him that she had been dating Joohyun for the past couple of months. "I'm happy for you."

Wonwoo still considers Seulgi and Joohyun together to be the best thing from his one year in university. There wasn't much otherwise; the endless struggle to shake off the chronic guilt within him started with drinks (his wallet couldn't afford it). He quickly moved on to casual relationships and sex (he often confused the two with long-term companionship and daydreams of Soonyoung in bed with him), followed by a series of impulsive obsessions from six p.m. dramas to delusions of getting married to a pretty girl like Joohyun with two kids; one son, one daughter. None of these worked.

Jeonghan found Wonwoo as a new man. _it's jeonghan_ , his text read. _think we can meet?_

This Jeonghan wasn't the Jeonghan he knew throughout high school, but Wonwoo didn't mind. He wasted no time burying his face in Jeonghan's shoulders when they met.

With Jeonghan and Joohyun around as his crutches, Wonwoo expected recovery or something along those lines. He didn't expect packs of unopened cigarettes in his room, a disgusting glass of murky, tobacco-ridden water by them where he threw the finished ones away. They were the same menthols Soonyoung liked; the taste nauseated Wonwoo to death, made him crawl towards the bathroom every chance he got, but he couldn't stop.

Joohyun often threw his pack away in secret, replaced them with gum and flavored milk. Jeonghan cared in a more complicated way than that, suffering from an odd sense of responsibility towards Wonwoo's downfall as Wonwoo had regarding Jeonghan's. The guilt manifested as self-hatred and rejection towards Jeonghan's good intentions, because Wonwoo couldn't let himself be happy, not when he hadn't apologized to Soonyoung, not when he let whatever good they had in high school slip from his fingers so carelessly.

A fire broke out in the STEM building, shrill alarm ushering the other students out to the assembly point by the quad, but Wonwoo remained paralyzed in his seat, in an empty classroom, wanting so badly to scream through air-starved lungs. He waited for the alarm to stop, for the orange skies to turn indigo so that he could move his legs and finally drag himself back into the dorms.

Jeonghan screamed in his face. "You could've _died_ , Wonwoo."

He nodded plaintively, not raising his head in the end and cradling it in his hands. In his limited line of vision, he caught sight of Jeonghan's feet pacing about, stuttering here and stomping there, shaking from how much they wanted to kick something. "I can't do this anymore," he said, laughing under his breath. "I'm dropping out, Jeonghan."

Jeonghan was kind enough to not say anything against the decision, going as far as to help Wonwoo pack up while he sorted out the paperwork. The processing was quiet on both ends, and so was the farewell.

"Keep in touch," Jeonghan told him, clapping Wonwoo's shoulder.

"I will."

Jeonghan knew he was a replacement and a crutch. The problem was that he tried to fulfil these roles, and he failed. That was alright. Wonwoo loved Jeonghan in his own way for trying so hard. There were promises of moving to wherever Wonwoo would be at, of tasting the big city smog once they felt ready enough.

"You know feelings aren't forever, right? Soonyoung isn't the same person anymore. You can at least forgive yourself."

The words were awkwardly strung together, like something out of a self-help website, which Wonwoo thought was probably true for Jeonghan's case. His bus approached the stop, and Wonwoo rushed his reply before boarding. "I know."

 

 

**extinguisher**

With ruddy faces from wiping away tears, they hail a cab back to Soonyoung's. Wonwoo muses at the funny reunion, how all four of them including Seokmin are gathered in the same city now.

The cab ride is silent, but not suffocating. Wonwoo watches the lights blink past him, breath fogging up the car's window. His fingers are warm in Soonyoung's, and it's the most peaceful he's felt in years; if time were to halt and preserve this moment for the rest of eternity, Wonwoo wouldn't mind. The city is beautiful at night and his head is blank in a good way. Years of feeling so much for one person is tiring.

Soonyoung doesn't live far from Wonwoo, his neighborhood only two stops away by train. Their skin look green under the streetlights, hands parted only to find each other again when Soonyoung leads Wonwoo up the stairs to his flat. It's a dingy place, lease signed with the sole purpose of providing Soonyoung somewhere to sleep at night, but Wonwoo can't care less. They could be at the burning storehouse together and it wouldn't change a thing because it's been too long since he got to hold Soonyoung's hand like this.

There's no aircon in Soonyoung's flat, only a ceiling fan and a portable one at the corner by the window. He switches both on, breeze cooling the sweat off Wonwoo's nape and making Soonyoung's shirt stick less to his skin.

"Want a shirt?" Soonyoung offers. Wonwoo declines. They lie on Soonyoung's bare mattress sweaty and grimy, just like four years ago after the storehouse incident.

"It was all my fault," Wonwoo starts, swallowing thickly at the end. All the nervous tics he had accumulated since high school made themselves known; lips sore from worrying and constant licking, cuticles peeled off his nails. "I could've made my family cover up for you. I blanked out, I was useless. I'm sorry."

Soonyoung takes a deep breath. Wonwoo doesn't dare to chance a glance at his profile, not yet. "You could've, but you didn't," he deadpans. Alone with Soonyoung, Wonwoo appreciates that this isn't a carbon copy of his best friend in high school. They've changed, both of them, and he'll have to relearn everything from scratch. "I thought about it a lot, Wonwoo. I had a month and more. Even if your family covered up for me, they had pictures." Soonyoung chuckles before resuming, "The blonde hair was _so_ stupid."

Wonwoo can't laugh along, a lump forming in his throat as he recalls how Soonyoung used to peek at him through shaggy blonde bangs. "It was."

"Anyway, the police would still investigate. If your entire family covered up for me, you could've been considered an accomplice."

The thought of getting punished alongside Soonyoung crossed Wonwoo's mind plenty of times before. They wouldn't come out from the whole deal scot free; Wonwoo mused the fear of fire they could've shared, suited up in court with Soonyoung's hair dyed back to black, seeing Soonyoung's nearly-fictional family seated in a neat row behind them. They could've held hands even tighter for longer, cross the supposed line of _best friends_ in their struggle to shake off the past, scrabbling for a chance to redeem themselves. All their pathways were bleak after the incident, but they would've stayed together in some of them. Wonwoo thought that in itself is already a great mercy.

He doesn't say any of this. "I think about it every day."

The flat is quiet; whirring fans, soft breathing, the pitter-patter of rain gradually taking over as white static. Wonwoo can't hear himself think anymore. Soonyoung rolls onto his side, facing Wonwoo. He's close enough for Wonwoo to hear him if he concentrates. "Do you regret it?" he asks. Wonwoo still can't look him in the eye. "Does it make you feel better, saying sorry?"

"It doesn't." Wonwoo has finally said it, his fantasy come true at last. He still has no clue what to do about the boy lying right next to him, breath fanning out against his cheek and mattress creaking when Soonyoung shifts his leg slightly. "You need to be forgiven to feel better, remember?"

"Do you want to be forgiven?"

To ask for forgiveness like it's a mint candy makes Wonwoo heave a sigh, feeling more condemned than ever. The free pass is a joke when he's been wrestling with blame and loathing for so long. He never thought the actual confrontation would be this hard, legs frozen in marsh-like ground where the ice has just started to melt. "I don't know," Wonwoo whispers weakly, giving Soonyoung all control to himself.

Soonyoung reaches for Wonwoo's hand again, clammy fingers on sweaty palms before resting on his wrist; Wonwoo's blood rushes against Soonyoung's skin. "You can't say _I don't know_ for every question, Wonwoo." Fingers now circle his wrist, bringing it up to Soonyoung's lips. "Don't you have questions? Like how mad I was?"

"I saw you in school." The ceiling fan is trying its best to lull Wonwoo to sleep, but the warmth on his knuckles won't let him. "I know how mad you were. I have nightmares about it."

Wonwoo feels Soonyoung hum into his skin. "It felt like I was gonna go insane." He grins into Wonwoo's hand, "I didn't, though."

"You dropped out," Wonwoo scoffs, pulling his hand away from Soonyoung slightly. "Admit that you went bonkers and couldn't be fucked to go anymore." That got a giggle out of Soonyoung, muffled by teeth. "Why did you?"

"Why did _you_?"

 _I can't spend every waking second looking for you in strangers_ , Wonwoo wants to say. "Don't feel like saying," he tells Soonyoung instead.

"I think we've the same reasons, though?"

Wonwoo isn't in the mood for games, to be frank, and even if he were, he wouldn't figure out the answer in time. Four years did little but open his eyes to the fact that they never knew each other at all. There were too many things left up in the air or strewn about their feet in bits and pieces. None of them ever had a penchant for cleaning. They didn't even bother with the rug anymore after some point in time.

Soonyoung gets up to straddle Wonwoo, trapping his legs together and nothing more, hands idle in his lap. But they're facing each other now; Wonwoo can no longer look away.

When Soonyoung starts his series of questions, his voice is stern, belying his own nerves reflected only in his fingers stretching out the hem of his shirt. "You regret what happened, yeah?"

Wonwoo nods. "Yeah."

"I know I was fucking outraged but—I forgave you quickly. Really, I sincerely did. Do you have any idea how lonely I felt after?"

A sharp clap of thunder causes Wonwoo to wince, but Soonyoung barely flinches. "You had Jeonghan."

"Jeonghan isn't _you_ ," he grits out in frustration, taking a deep breath to calm down after. "You—you know you were my best friend, Wonwoo? You know that, right?"

The tiny lump in Wonwoo's throat grows to cover the rest of his airway, pricking his lungs. "I know," he answers, nearly inaudible. Any louder than this and his voice would crack.

"So you know it'll take more than that to make me not miss you." Soonyoung rubs his face with the heel of his palm until it's pink, raw around his eyes. Wonwoo can't hear him sigh; the rain beats everything down to the ground. "I'll make this easy," he says firmly while untangling his fingers from his shirt, splaying them out on the mattress next to Wonwoo's waist. "Sincerely say you're sorry one more time."

"I'm sorry," Wonwoo says. The three syllables roll off his tongue solid, leaving a metallic taste his mouth from how he tried to make their edges gentle. He says it so simply that there's no way it could be insincere. Soonyoung's challenge is direct; Wonwoo can't lie.

"Good. I forgive you." Soonyoung shakes the bangs away from his eyes, purses his lips before resuming. "You'll do anything to make up for what you did?"

"Anything at all." Wonwoo gives Soonyoung a helpless chuckle, hands flying up to cover his face because he can't hold in the tears anymore. It hurt his throat too much to keep them in. "Please," he sobs, "whatever you want, just tell me." There's pressure all over him, none of which come from the weight of Soonyoung sitting on his thighs. There is an overwhelming amount of stress in every bone, every muscle, every nerve Wonwoo has—and it screams for release. Crying in front of Soonyoung just makes his insides flare up.

Soonyoung pries Wonwoo's hands away, hoists him up by the shoulders. He cradles Wonwoo's face and wipes at the tears with thick thumbs, smoothing his hair up. "Wonwoo," he calls. "Wonwoo, look at me." The sheer amount of care Soonyoung is putting into the motion of brushing Wonwoo's hair out of his face is ridiculous. It makes Wonwoo sob harder; he's forgotten when he last received so much attention, touches so gentle they sear his skin. "Can I kiss you?"

Wonwoo nods. Soonyoung presses his lips against Wonwoo's; soundless, strict, without grace. Wonwoo is embarrassingly congested, unable to breathe through his nostrils anymore, and his face is grossly wet. His sobs must be disgusting in a kiss, surely, but Soonyoung moves to mutter against the corner of his mouth, _it's okay._

Soonyoung's fingers inch further back, smoothing over the back of Wonwoo's head before resting at his nape. _It's okay_ , Wonwoo repeats to himself, tilting his head slightly to chase after Soonyoung's lips. He does it a few times over, breathing synchronized with Soonyoung's as his arms wrap around Soonyoung's shoulders tightly. With their eyes closed, Wonwoo can trick himself into thinking that Soonyoung won't know he's crying; they push against each other, teeth knocking more than once, kissing blind and desperate without a slick of finesse.

"You're gonna spend forever making it up to me," Soonyoung sighs, thumbs pressed against the spot right under Wonwoo's ears. "I won't leave you this time—you're cursed."

"What makes you think you won't?"

The rain quiets to a drizzle, faint hum allowing Wonwoo to hear his heart crawl out of his throat. "Gimme some credit, Wonwoo," Soonyoung scoffs. "I left you once. I'd like to think that I learn from my mistakes."

Soonyoung presses one last kiss onto Wonwoo's temple, without the panic of four years ago, and tackles him back down onto the bed. "That doesn't mean you can't leave me again," Wonwoo mumbles into Soonyoung's arm. The fan's blades go in circles above him; he can sleep like this. Soonyoung might disappear soon but he's here right now, tangible and warm on Wonwoo for him to hold until he leaves again. Wonwoo wouldn't mind much. He's said everything he wanted to say. Regret will only be a phantom pain from now on.

Wonwoo's face is deftly turned to Soonyoung's, cheeks gathered in fingers as Soonyoung pleads, "Would it kill you to trust me?" The _for once_ at the end is omitted, but Wonwoo understands. Camaraderie within such silence was bound to break; Wonwoo had misled Soonyoung into trusting him when he couldn't trust Soonyoung back and nobody had a clue. But at the very least, Soonyoung had trusted him. Soonyoung lost by trusting Wonwoo—it killed him.

"Don't say it like _you_ , out of all people, can trust me," Wonwoo retorts.

"I trusted you." Something from the unit upstairs clatters as if in agreement. "I can trust you again. I'm trusting you right now so don't let me down for the second time, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo scoots closer, forces an arm between Soonyoung's side and the bed so he can wrap around Soonyoung's waist tightly. "Why would you want me back?" he asks, voice muffled by Soonyoung's shirt. "It doesn't make sense."

"Because you're you," Soonyoung mutters into Wonwoo's hair. "Is it wrong of me to miss someone I like so much?"

The drizzle picks up where it left off, thunder rolling overhead and drowning everything out once more. Static rainfall leaves no space for argument, and Wonwoo gulps, feels saliva burn going down his throat. "I'll stay."

There's no fight left in him; he lets the fan lull him to sleep in Soonyoung's arms.

 

 

A common dream: gold and red and black blinding Wonwoo momentarily before his eyes are permanently shot by acrid smoke. The fire builds around him like a stifling embrace, pudgy fingers trailing up Wonwoo's arms to his shoulders, to his neck before closing in on his thin skin like a vice.

The hands around his neck never press long enough to strangle; they grip for a couple of seconds before loosening. Wonwoo relishes in the sweaty palms on his throat, feeling the rough of soot dragged across his collarbones when they finally let go of him.

Soonyoung's voice echoes from behind him but Wonwoo can't catch the words. He can't see Soonyoung either, the blaze blinding him.

But in the end, Wonwoo would always laugh. A heinous thing spat out to the dry ground as he wastes whatever oxygen the flames allowed in their presence and collapses in a pathetic heap of crushed bones.

 

 

When Wonwoo wakes, it isn't to the sound of birds fighting outside his window or Seokmin whistling in his kitchen. There's a slight rumble, almost like an earthquake if he sinks into the bed further and feels for it; he thinks it's the train running straight above Soonyoung's building.

Soonyoung has detached himself away from Wonwoo over the night, but he's still close enough for Wonwoo to feel warm, damp even. He registers the blanket draped over him. The steady rise and fall of Soonyoung's chest almost pulls him back to slumber, but Wonwoo inhales, rouses himself up to peel the blanket off. He silently pads over to the door by Soonyoung's closet, assuming it's his bathroom. When he returns, Soonyoung is seated on his bed with his back against the wall, scrolling through his phone.

Unlike the blinding white of Wonwoo's curtain-less room, Soonyoung's space is washed in dark green, a sharp streak of sunlight cutting across the floor being the only light they have. "Morning," Soonyoung yawns.

"Morning," Wonwoo mumbles back, zipping up his pants before lowering himself back onto the bed. Soonyoung sets his phone down.

"Just take off your pants," Soonyoung abruptly suggests. Wonwoo's breath hitches. "I don't mean anything weird—it's just really hot, I've taken mine off hours ago, and..."

Wonwoo tries to pick the words off Soonyoung's head. "It'll be like back then?"

In the dark, Wonwoo can see Soonyoung's eyes gleam. They blink at him a few times before disappearing, the rustle of Soonyoung's shirt against his blankets cut off by the screeching train above them. "If you want it to be," he says after the noise has passed.

Wonwoo chuckles while shimmying out of his jeans. The buttons clack against the floor, and Wonwoo crawls back into bed, sighing from the scratch of stitches on his bare skin. Soonyoung's feet carefully find his, toes at Wonwoo's ankles before he scoots closer, until their knees touch and Soonyoung's calves burn Wonwoo's. Soonyoung taps Wonwoo's waist once, as if asking for permission, and Wonwoo hums in approval. He warns Soonyoung about the sweat on his back, but the hand on the small of his back doesn't budge. Soonyoung tells Wonwoo to raise his head a bit, offering his other arm as a pillow before leaning in for a tentative kiss, more of a peck really. It's quickly chased by another kiss, longer, lips pressed harder to remind Wonwoo that this is reality.

"Remember the Japan trip?" Soonyoung murmurs. The blankets are off; spring is soon to be gone and Soonyoung's mattress must be drenched by now.

Wonwoo has a finger tracing Soonyoung's earlobe while planting kisses along the column of his neck. "What of it?"

"We should actually go. On Christmas, maybe?" Soonyoung grins, pushing Wonwoo off him slightly. "Do you still have your savings for that?"

Wonwoo scoffs in disbelief. "You still have yours?"

Soonyoung's grin spreads across his whole face all the way to his ears, teeth knocking down the rest of Wonwoo's walls until he laughs, head lolling to rest on Soonyoung's chest. It's such a perfect morning that Wonwoo wants to cry, can already feel the tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His limbs feel light for once, so light that if it weren't for Soonyoung holding onto him he would drift off somewhere out of total elation.

"Save up, Wonwoo."

 

 

 **salve**  

The hum of people milling about the mall on a weekday keeps a code of sorts in the ruling of Wonwoo's life at present. Bora apologizes for the late paycheck, her clothes getting thinner by the day as summer hits them full-force, roads no longer pink from blossom petals. Soonyoung gets the hang of admin-work fast, taking over for Wonwoo when he takes the liberty of extending his lunch break with Jeonghan, who they won't be seeing much of post-graduation because unlike them, he's smart enough to land an internship with one of the city's biggest banks. He'll be moving to the northern ward, an hour and half away by train.

"I only deferred my course, by the way," Soonyoung brought up one afternoon over burgers. "Just a semester off. I didn't drop out."

Wonwoo faked offense. "I thought we were in this together. _Dropouts Anonymous_."

Soonyoung is far from subtle. Wonwoo knows he's been ignoring the school's emails; returning to university in two months would effectively be leaving Wonwoo in a way, especially with Jeonghan gone.

The question is bound to come up sooner or later. "Ever thought of going back to school?"

"Not a lot," Wonwoo says, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. _I know what you're trying to tell me._ "Need time to sort all that out, y'know?"

Two schoolgirls walk past them, socks of differing length but their hairstyles alike, ties swaying along with the slight breeze reminding Wonwoo of Joohyun and Seulgi; they're still together, last he checked Facebook, so things should be okay on their end. He misses them, and not just because he is curious of how a reunion between Joohyun and Soonyoung would go.

"Right," Soonyoung exhales.

Wonwoo worries his lip. He's given school plenty of thought before, but it never seemed worth it to him, at least not now. With his head clearer, Wonwoo finds himself gravitating towards blogs, tiny entries and ads for cheap coding services. He doesn't need to go back to university yet. Soonyoung tells him it's fine, that Wonwoo should come visit him often.

Returning home to his shared apartment loses its drug-like relief once Wonwoo got used to the train running above Soonyoung's flat. Seokmin observes the gradually growing clutter in their living room, Wonwoo's feet propped up on their coffee table more often than not, laptop in his lap.

"Heard Soonyoung is around," Seokmin mutters around a mouthful of cereal one morning. "How is he?"

"Good," Wonwoo replies. "He's doing really well."

Rekindling whatever he had with Soonyoung made Wonwoo see Seokmin the way he's supposed to be seen; the same Lee Seokmin from high school who is just a little leaner now, talks slightly better and finally knows how to treat his boyfriend properly. His morning toast has always been too burnt, Wonwoo realizes, and eggs too rubbery to really be enjoyed with coffee. That Seokmin isn't his savior is a fact Wonwoo has long known but only recently made peace with.

A part of him wants to confess to Seokmin, at least let him know of his role for the past few years of them living together. In a way, Wonwoo had used him. Even if it was within the confines of his mind, Wonwoo thinks Seokmin deserves better than being a replacement. But Soonyoung is back, Seokmin continues to burn toast and slap on too much jam for breakfast, and Mingyu is still offensively loud in bed. Wonwoo can take it to his grave. Besides, Seokmin broke Jeonghan's heart. He deserves having this one bit of wrong held against him.

"I'm moving out soon," Seokmin announces one evening while wiping down the kitchen. "In a couple of months. Thought I should tell you, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I didn't talk about this with you sooner—"

Wonwoo was ready to yell in Seokmin's face before wishful thinking permeates his logic. "It's fine," he interjects, "I think I've a plan." He watches the relief wash over Seokmin's features all too fast and quips, "If I run into any trouble, I'll hunt you two down, I swear."

 

 

The initial calm of Seokmin's move retreats, giving way to a fresh wave of panic that crashes into Wonwoo's brain with every new box he sees piled up in the living room. Three weeks until he moves—Wonwoo isn't ready. He hasn't spared a single second to look at their lease, and his plan is too farfetched to become reality anytime soon. Being a fulltime shopkeeper hardly pays for half the rent. 

"I would move in," Soonyoung says with a wide grin. "Your apartment is two stops closer to my uni, and you live on the tenth floor. That's a fucking luxury."

"You would?"

A light slap on his thigh; Soonyoung smirks at him, but there's no ill intention to be found in his flushed face. "Gladly."

The new Soonyoung Wonwoo has spent the past couple of months with is loudmouthed; he complains about nearly everything in a manner that's almost passive-aggressive, just polite enough to let him slip with little to no repercussions. He plays the same games and wears the same clothes, but launders more than he buys. Wonwoo caught Soonyoung calling his mother once, single-word replies muttered into the phone, but not without a _take care_ before waiting for her to hang up.

This is the fourth Soonyoung he knows, and Wonwoo likes him the best so far. Wonwoo wonders sometimes if Soonyoung has different versions of him too, and hopes that this version of Wonwoo, the one trying to burn his past and bury its remnants far away from them, is his favorite.

 

 

Over the following months, Wonwoo sits back and tries to commit to memory, how his little room has changed since the moment Soonyoung dumped his clumsily-taped boxes in Wonwoo's doorway. There are potted plants on the windowsill, blinds that rattle noisily in the breeze, comic books with worn-out spines slipped between his dusty novels. They decided to keep the Apink poster—Soonyoung is a fan. The room feels more cramped than ever, but Wonwoo likes seeing Soonyoung smiling in bed and whistling before the closet. He lets everything be, trinkets gathering dust in the corners and a couple of their polaroids stuck on the wall. There won't be any need to pack all these into boxes, not anytime soon.

"We should get ready for Japan," Wonwoo comments after glancing at his phone's calendar.

Soonyoung trudges out of their room with his laptop and speakers, setting them up on Wonwoo's coffee table. "We can do that tomorrow, or the day after," he laughs. "First, _Samumenco_."

"Your computer can play Bluray discs?" Wonwoo gasps for a slight second before popping a chip into his mouth. Soonyoung flicks the bit of salt on Wonwoo's lip away before leaning in for a quick kiss.

"Limited edition DVD, babe." He huddles close to Wonwoo on the squeaky couch, arm thrown around bony shoulders. "Wish I was rich enough, though."

Wonwoo kisses Soonyoung, tasting salt and barbeque flavoring before reclining with an easy grin on his face. "Save up, Soon-ah."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i_tried.swf
> 
> edit: kat found me this and i screamed 


End file.
